


The Nightmare's Mane

by Ornament_of_Rhyme



Series: The Nightmare Series [1]
Category: Scary Godmother (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, Nightmares, Orsannah, Pining, Romance, Smitten Orson, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-18 14:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12389820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ornament_of_Rhyme/pseuds/Ornament_of_Rhyme
Summary: "Orson." She thrust one lanky finger at the vampire. "Never make a deal with a Nightmare. They are ruthless and have very loose morals. You can't begin to imagine what they could do to your sanity."As she turned away, Orson's heart sank, but he tried not to let it show."And Hannah—" The witch faltered. "...Don't encourage him."





	The Nightmare's Mane

**Author's Note:**

> This story is firmly set in the movieverse. I haven't had the opportunity to read the stories. None of the libraries in my county keep them, much to my dismay.

For anyone else, standing in a pitch black closet for upwards of six hours would be insufferable. It could even leave them slightly unhinged for a while after. But Orson wasn't just anyone. He was a vampire on a mission.  
  
It also helped that he was regularly exposed to such environments. After all, vampires slept in coffins, sometimes standing ones, and were able to see in the dark. No, what actually bothered him about it all was playing the waiting game.  
  
It had been over five months since Hannah, without a word of warning, broke her habit of visiting the Fright Side. Scary may have been alright with waiting for the young woman to return on her own, but Orson felt her absence keenly. He had gotten used to seeing her at least a few times a week, where they would sit down in the living room at Scary's house and play games or talk or lavish attention on Boozle. Those were his favorite moments, there with his favorite person.  
  
Everyone in their family of friends had waved away his concerns; "Oh she's probably busy in her world. It's not like this hasn't happened before." Except that it hadn't. But they didn't seem to grasp that.  
  
Yes, Hannah had gone away for a while once before (too long, if you asked him), but she gave them a head's up that time, telling them that she was staying with her grandparents who were known for their snooping and hovering. No warnings were given this time around, and as any smitten mind would do, Orson stewed over it.  
  
What if something horrible had happened to her? They would never know unless someone from Hannah's world told them, which of course wouldn't happen. No one else knew about the Fright Side in her world, at least not anyone she socialized with. More and more as her absence extended, the thought of her lying dead somewhere tormented him.  
  
All these years, as they grew older, into young adults, and he came to understand Hannah's world more, he'd concluded that death was for vampires and ghosts, not for warm, gentle, rosy-cheeked humans.  
  
Finally, just the other day, his patience snapped. The anxiety over her disappearance had become suffocating in the only way he could ever know. He would have jumped worlds right away if he had the means, but it turned out a magicless vampire couldn't just open a random door and find a spiraling portal on the other side. (And yes, he had tried a time or two when he was younger.)  
  
So instead, he got up the courage to sneak through Bug-a-Boo's portal installed down in the broommates' basement. With the image of Hannah shining bright in his mind's eye, the portal took him to just the underbed he needed. Not that she was there when he arrived. (Which was good, only because she couldn't see his undignified squirming as he tried to get out from under the bed.) In fact, he only knew he landed in her bedroom because of the pictures of her and her human friends hung on the walls.  
  
He waited around for a time, sitting in her twirling desk chair and admiring the bright colors she decorated with. He still tended toward darker shades, but that's one of the things he liked about their friendship; they complemented each other in many different ways.  
  
It was earnest thoughts like this which spoke for just how bewitched he was.  
  
When the gut flipping feeling of spinning in her chair wore off, he took to examining her desk. An odd device hummed away in one corner. It had drawn his ear immediately, but only then did he stop to look. A computer, it occurred to him, but a small type he only distantly remembered seeing a couple of times before.  
  
As soon as he touched it, the black screen blinked and suddenly he was staring into his own face. But this was not a reflection, because he was older now. No, it was a picture Hannah had snapped one day some time ago, and she obviously did it while he wasn't paying attention, because the Orson in the picture was busy entrenching himself in a book. Skully's trio of pumpkin bowling trophies sparkled on the mantelpiece in the background.  
  
He didn't realize he'd been staring until the picture faded into a different one. This time it wasn't just Orson, but his whole family. Then when it changed again, Scary and Skully were posing dramatically for Hannah's camera. Then another of Scary, and then one of the pumpkin patch and gazebo and the ghoul Scary allowed to live in the graveyard. And then suddenly there she was. Her face was barely a year younger, and still had that pimple she hated above her lip. Her grin was wide and showed her pearly teeth, so rounded compared to his fangs. He remembered how, ever since she pointed out she didn't have fangs like him and then followed up by showing him the difference, he wanted to feel for himself. That was also around when he started fantasizing about touching her neck, kissing it.  
  
The picture staring back at him also included him, hugged to her side and smiling bashfully at the camera. _Now_ he couldn't imagine why in the world the Orson in the picture didn't wrap his arm around her in return. That could have been his one and only chance. But, dammit, he hoped it wasn't.  
  
Eventually the pictures started to repeat, so he looked around again. Everything about this place screamed Hannah. It all had her sweet but sure touch. Not to mention it smelled like her. He could stay here forever, he thought. It was like being embraced by her.  
  
After a time, the footsteps he'd been hearing from downstairs climbed up to his level. Listening intently, and knowing they were too heavy to belong to her, he dashed to the closet to hide when the footsteps neared her door. Just in time, he was pressing up against the cold wall at the back of the closet. The human stepped inside her room long enough to take what sounded to be a pencil from the desk drawer before leaving again. He heard them go back downstairs soon after.  
  
Not wanting to risk that situation again, he elected to stay in the closet and wait. Maybe Skully would show up and keep him company.  
  
And thus this waiting began.  
  
Hours passed, giving him plenty of time to think about what he would say to Hannah when she arrived, before scrapping it and repeating the process over again. But eventually, he heard and felt the glowing timbre of her voice coming from below.  
  
He tensed when her footsteps traveled upstairs, nearing at last. He waited until she closed her door and moved to her nightstand before cracking open the closet door.  
  
Through the slot this made, he could see the back of her. Pink and yellow pastels bled into her long white dress like watercoloring. Her close cropped brown hair looked soft as ever. The sight of her, even just her back, relieved the huge weight he'd been carrying around all these months.  
  
With an easy push, he was back in the bright light of her room, faking a tall and confident stance. What did he want to say again?  
  
Turning at the sound, Hannah lept at the sight of him. A small noise of surprise squeaked from her mouth and she pressed a hand over her heart, which he could sense stumbling. She blinked up at him.  
  
"Orson!"  
  
"Uh." The vampire rubbed the back of his neck. "Hi, Hannah." A little too late, his brain asked, 'what if she didn't _want_ to see him?' "I didn't mean to sc—"  
  
Hannah bounded forth, cutting him off. She threw her arms over him and hugged close. This time, his arms wrapped around her without a thought.  
  
"I'm so happy to see you," she said against his collar.  
  
"Well we haven't heard from you in a long time." Orson was almost lost to the new senses of having her held so near. He thought just being in her room was comforting, but now it was nothing compared to having her truly in his arms, breathing hot against his cold neck.  
  
Her human strength was weak on him, but it still felt good when she held tighter. Then she pulled back to see his face, giving him a better look at her own. There was an unusual shade to her under eyes.  
  
He reached up to brush the pad of his thumb over it, and she said, "I was so afraid I'd never get to see you guys again."  
  
He frowned. "What do you mean? You can come to see us any time."  
  
She shook her head. "No, no, my key's gone! I don't have it anymore!"  
  
Orson gaped. "What happened to it?"  
  
Hannah seemed to wilt.  
  
"After I saw you last, a couple days after, I was walking home from my friend's house and someone jumped out at me," she explained, setting him on edge. "I didn't get to see them because it was dark, but they stole my bag! My key was in there."  
  
"You were mugged?" A chaotic mix of emotions surged through Orson as he searched her face for scars. "Did they hurt you?" If so, this thief had a furious vampire in their future.  
  
Hannah laughed weakly. "No, I just scraped my knee. I'm okay. I just... I thought I'd never see you again."  
  
Orson reeled her close again, burying his nose in her hair. "I promise we'll keep seeing each other forever."  
  
"Forever's a long time."  
  
He paused. "Is that okay?"  
  
She huffed a real laugh and nodded into his chest. "Yes."

"I'm sure Scary Godmother can get you another key," he added. "But maybe you should... Keep it closer next time."  
  
She hummed as she pondered this, then said, "Like on a necklace?" He didn't think she knew she was doing it, but her finger traced a line over the back of his neck, and for once in his life he genuinely shivered.  
  
"Y-yeah. I think that's a good idea."  
  
They fell into silence, leaning into each other with no sign of letting go.  
  
After a time, she repeated into his neck, "I thought I'd never see you again."  
  
If he could blush, he undoubtedly would have, but that didn't stop the light feeling pooling in his stomach. To gloss over it all, he said "When you didn't show up for the Halloween party last week I knew something had to be wrong."  
  
"Halloween was horrible without you all."  
  
She pulled back, looking around curiously. “Wait. How did you get here?”  
  
Reluctantly he released her to motion to the bed. "I used Bug-a-Boo's work portal."  
  
She laughed. "You came from under my bed? Good luck getting back through there."  
  
Just as it was donning on him, Orson said slowly, "I don't think I could anyway."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well," he said, "Bug-a-Boo doesn't come out from under the bed when he visits you, right?"  
  
"I guess not, now that you mention it..."  
  
"Me either. I think it's because if he comes all the way through he'll get stuck here. He only bought the one-way portal package. He complains about it a lot."  
  
Hannah's brows jumped. "So you're stuck here?"  
  
"I guess." At her unimpressed look, he added, "They'll come looking for me. Probably."  
  
"Would they have any reason to think you'd be here?" she asked.  
  
Surfacing in his mind was all of the complaining he'd been doing in the months that Hannah had been gone. Surely his mom, at the very least, would consider the possibility that he came looking for his friend.  
  
"Most likely," he said at last.  
  
She clucked her tongue. "I'd hate for you to be stuck here."  
  
"At least I'm with you," he said. "Sometimes I think I'd rather be here with you than on the Fright Side."  
  
She gave him a coy smile. "That's silly."  
  
He shrugged. "It's still true."  
  
"Okay, well." Hannah went to sit on her bed. "While we're waiting, catch me up."  
  
They spent a while trading stories and notes; a back and forth over the main events of the last several months. All in all, nothing major seemed to have happened for either of them, or if it had it was drowned out by the mutual worry they were harboring all this time.  
  
When no one arrived looking for Orson by the time they ran out of news, Hannah perked up, suggesting, "How about a movie? There's one I want to show you. Just to hear your thoughts on it."  
  
"Sure," he enthused.  
  
She went to get the little computer. "Could you turn off the light?"  
  
He did so, leaving only moonlight to illuminate the room through the window, while Hannah crawled, with the computer in tow, to the far side of her bed. She patted the space next to her, beckoning him, which he met readily. As she worked the computer, she leaned back against the pillows and the headboard, so he did the same.  
  
"Have you seen any movies from my world?" she asked.  
  
"One of my old friends showed me this one about a Halloween world," he recalled. "It was kinda boring though. I mean, I see that kind of stuff every day."  
  
She paused to contemplate this. "That makes sense." Returning to the computer, she went on to say, "Actually, this one is about monsters, too. It's really corny, so I thought it might be interesting to see what you think."  
  
They settled in as the movie began, leaning into each other. The aged title screen declared, _The Monster Squad._  
  
It was hard to get into the movie, but he didn't say so. The truth was, sitting there with her was absorbing almost all his attention. Though he made the effort to comment on the film because he knew she wanted his opinion.  
  
It started when the Dracula character socked someone in the face. Orson nearly burst into laughter, but caught himself in time to stifle it in her hair until he could reign it in. Then he said, "That's totally unrealistic. My dad would be appalled. A vampire using it's fists? That's completely undignified." She grinned.  
  
Then there was the part where he pointed out, "Hey, that mummy looks just like our neighbor Anen. He's really short. He even limps like that."  
  
"Don't all mummies have a limp?" she asked.  
  
"Nah, just the ones who were buried with all their stuff."  
  
And shortly after came his query of, "Wait, these werewolves are part human?"  
  
Hannah cocked her head. "You know I've never thought about it, but Hairy doesn't transform into a human, does he? Do any real werewolves do that?"  
  
"None that I know of," he said.  
  
"Interesting." She leaned her head against his shoulder after that.  
  
Soon, the movie took a sickening turn for him as the humans began slaughtering the monsters. After the third death, Hannah caught on to his concern.  
  
"What's the matter, Orson?" she asked.  
  
Her kind voice made honesty drip from the tip of his tongue. "They're all being murdered. And it seems like the movie thinks all monsters are automatically evil."  
  
She frowned. "Well, aren't there movies on the Fright Side where humans are the villains?"  
  
A pause. "I guess so. But not always."  
  
"Humans don't always think monsters are evil," she told him. "We can watch one of those instead?"  
  
"It just... makes me nervous that knowing how to kill us is general knowledge to humans. Anyone could hurt my family," he explained, "and it seems like that's their first reaction."  
  
Hannah nodded, though her brows were furrowed. "Isn't that anyone's first reaction to meeting someone so different from them? Remember how your family wanted to eat me when we first met?"  
  
Orson flinched at the reminder. He considered that introduction one of the most shameful things he'd ever done.  
  
"And anyway," she continued, "I would protect you from any human who would ever try to hurt you."  
  
"Thanks, Hannah."  
  
She offered to change the movie, but he declined. Maybe the ending would make up for it all.  
  
That didn't happen. However, he had to acknowledge that the Frankenstein's monster was made out to be one of the heroes. It was the only exception out of the monsters in the movie, but he liked to think it showed that humans could be open to the prospect of monsters being good. It all continued to leave a bad taste in his mouth, though.  
  
By the time it was over, no one had arrived in search of him, but Orson wasn't worried. Whether he liked the film or not, he was just glad to be with Hannah again. Hannah on the other hand looked somewhat grim over it.  
  
"I'm sure they'll come," he said. "I'm a member of a royal family, so more of a fuss will be made about finding me."  
  
She chuckled weakly. "You're so sure..."  
  
He leaned into her, bumping shoulders. "I am sure. Dad's kinda overprotective that way. So, another movie?"  
  
Trusting his word, Hannah picked out another film. "I think you'll like this one more," she said. "It's nice to look at, if nothing else."

 _The Corpse Bride_ , it was named.  
  
Right she was, he observed very early on: it was pretty. Dreary as a mausoleum—even as a vampire he thought so—but pretty nonetheless.  
  
"Are you sure these people aren't reanimated corpses?" he asked of the humans. "They're pale as death."  
  
Her delighted laughter chimed. "No, they're alive. I think the dead people are either blue or skeletons."  
  
Quickly, he became wrapped up in the idea of a human being wed to one of the undead. Not only was the main creature of the movie—the titular corpse bride—made out to be a good character (possibly even better than the main human character, who was incredibly flaky), but her love for the human was embraced by the other dead people. They celebrated the marriage like it were taking place within their own family.  
  
He wondered if showing this to his parents would convince them to let him court Hannah. Rather, to convince his father. His mother was bolstering the idea from the very beginning. "I'm hundreds of years old, darling," she once said to Orson, "I know everlasting devotion when I see it."  
  
It wasn't a problem of Hannah being a human, as Orson's own mother had been a human once upon a time. Rather, it was Hannah's status: namely the part where she wasn't of the aristocracy. His mother was at least a Lady of noble blood when she and his father fell in love.  
  
Maybe they could make the case that Hannah was a fairy princess after all...  
  
It was around this point in the movie that he noticed Hannah asleep against his side. Her breathing was sleep-even and her head lolled slightly on his shoulder.  
  
It brought a wide grin to his face, her level of comfort with him. Best friends indeed.  
  
Despite the kudos he gave the film throughout, it all went out the window as he watched it end on a sour note: the corpse bride and the human didn't end up together. The humans ended up together. The corpse just changed her mind and turned into butterflies or something.  
  
As credits rolled on in the background, he turned his full attention to his slumbering friend. He curved just a little more toward her, enjoying the moment, but was interrupted when his ears picked up the muffled sound of footsteps crossing the hall, headed straight for Hannah's room.  
  
Orson carefully slipped off the bed, laying Hannah into her pillows, and retreated into the closet. He held a breath he didn't need as the intruder stepped into the room.  
  
"Han, honey?" they asked softly.  
  
Hannah didn't respond, and whoever it was didn't try again. Orson heard them mess with Hannah's computer, abruptly cutting off the music of the credits, before they left the bedroom again.  
  
A few minutes passed while he waited to ensure they weren't coming back. When no such return took place, he crept out of the closet.  
  
Immediately, his eyes cut through the darkness to discover a gargoyle-esque creature sitting on Hannah's chest. Strangely, the human remained asleep.  
  
"Awful," the creature said in it's gravely voice. "First that bald guy, and now this?" It plucked at Hannah's hair, then glanced over at Orson and gestured to him, saying, "Her hair's about as short as this kid's! These new hairstyles are killin' me. Marelocks are the only fun I get outta this job."  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Orson ground out.  
  
The creature turned it's gleaming black eyes to him in surprise. It looked at him, then around the room. It pointed to itself. "Me?"  
  
"Of course, you." Orson strode over to wake Hannah. The young woman didn't so much as twitch in response, but a sort of pout marred her face.  
  
"You can see me?" the thing asked. "Pretty impressive for a humie."  
  
Trying again to shake Hannah awake, Orson said, "I'm not a human, I'm a vampire."  
  
It creaked out a sound of acknowledgment. "I guess the eyes shoulda given it away. Thought they were just cheap color contacts."  
  
When it's comment went ignored, the creature settled in to watch Orson get progressively more distressed as the girl didn't wake. "She a friend of yours, or a meal?"  
  
With a hiss, Orson bared his fangs. "Don't talk about Hannah like that. Get off, you're crushing her."  
  
The creature held up it's gray hands in placation. "Jeez, kid. Who put garlic in your crypt?" It continued to look on impassively while Orson held Hannah's limp hand to his chest and called out her name.  
  
"Oh, she's not gonna wake up," it said. "She's having a nightmare."  
  
"That's what you are? The Nightmare?"  
  
For an instant the creature's smashed goblin face elongated into that of a sneering horse. "Mære at your service, bloodsucker. Well, not really. I do what I want."  
  
The vampire's eyes flashed. "Get off her."  
  
"No can do, pal. This is my job."  
  
Hannah's brows pulled together, and her pout deepened into a worrying frown.  
  
This was infuriating, Orson thought. If the Mære creature wasn't going to move on its own, he would have to force it.  
  
Orson lashed out, snatching the Mære's arm and pulling with all his might.  
  
It gargled with a horrible laugh. "Good luck with that."  
  
No matter how hard he tugged, the Mære didn't budge. It was like trying to drag a boulder. How it didn't actually crush Hannah was beyond him.  
  
When Orson finally admitted defeat, the Mære said, "Listen, kid, I've gotta fill my quota. I'm on a deadline here!"  
  
"I-I'll be your victim then," Orson blurted. "Give me all the nightmares you want, but you can't touch her anymore."  
  
The creature appeared to mull this over. "But you're not a humie," it pointed out.  
  
"A nightmare's a nightmare, right? I'm afraid of things, too."  
  
Again, it pondered this. Finally, with a grunt, the Nightmare hopped down to crouch by Orson. "Deal, kid. I hope you're prepared to handle it. I graduated top of my class."  
  
Orson didn't have time to dread this, because as soon as the creature abandoned Hannah, the human's breath stopped entirely.  
  
In a panic, Orson seized her, begging her to breathe, to wake, to _please don't die._ Her fingers twitched against the comforter and her eyes rolled around beneath their lids.  
  
Then, with a sharp noise, she jolted awake.  
  
Orson climbed on to the bed to comfort her as she came to her senses.  
  
In the background, the Mære gargled another laugh. "I tell ya, sleep paralysis is far an' away my favorite. They always fight so hard!"  
  
Ignoring it, Orson continued to tend to his friend. Her face was twisted in confusion as her eyes darted from his face to the open room and back. "Are you alright, Hannah?" he asked.  
  
Shakily, she replied, "I couldn't breathe. It was like I was awake, but I couldn't control my body." Her confusion smoothed out somewhat and she rested her forehead against his collar, murmuring, "There was a demon."  
  
Again, the Mære chuckled. "That would be me, sugarcube."  
  
Hannah looked over, for the first time noticing the creature. "Who are you?"  
  
"What, she can see me, too? I thought she was human."  
  
"I think that's because I've been exposed to the Fright Side for so long," she theorized. "I see ghosts now, too."  
  
The Mære grunted. "Say, since I got you here, you mind taking a survey? It'll only take a minute."

Hannah goggled. Then: "You're from the Fright Side."  
  
The Mære snorted. "Am I dreamin', or did we already establish that?"  
  
The human made to stand, and Orson followed. "You can travel between the worlds," she said. "You could help us. We need to get a message to Count Maxwell and his wife, or even Scary Godmother."  
  
And this is another reason why he loves her, Orson thought to himself. She was always bursting with great ideas.  
  
The creature threw up it's hands. "Whoa, not my problem."  
  
"Please, we need your help." Hannah knelt to the creature's height. "He's stuck here without a way back to the Fright Side. His family needs to know where he is so he can get home."  
  
Somehow, for a reason Orson couldn't fathom, the Mære remained unmoved by her plea. Instead, it folded it's crusty arms. "Ain't gonna happen."  
  
Hannah's lips pursed as she visibly scoured her brain for an idea. Orson, however, beat her to it. He'd bargained with the Nightmare earlier, so why not again?  
  
"I'll give you something," Orson said to it.  
  
It's arms remained crossed, but he could see a pique in the creature's interest. "What's that?" it asked.  
  
Orson hesitated, asking himself the same question. What could a Nightmare want that he could provide?  
  
He recalled the information he learned about it in the last several minutes, and then the answer started to take a loose shape.  
  
"It'll make your job fun again," he promised.  
  
The Mære's mouth slowly stretched into a wicked grin, and the moonlight crept away, leaving only the otherworldly incandescence of the Nightmare's eyes.  
  
"You're playing with fire, bloodsucker," it said, low. "Tell you what. If I do this favor for you, your gift better hold up. Otherwise, I'll pick you apart one fear at a time. Terror by terror. Digging up horrors your feeble mind could never imagine; piercing you like trillions of little pinpricks that will eventually outnumber the cells that hold you together. Each and every time you feel your eyes grow weary, you will fall into hysterics over the inevitability of sleep, because I will be there waiting for you."  
  
The human and vampire went rigid. All the world was silent in that instant. Then the light of the moon filtered back in, and Hannah turned her big brown eyes to Orson, silently asking how much faith he had in his plan.  
  
That look was all he needed to tell the Nightmare, "You won't be disappointed."  
  
"Great. C'mere." It beckoned him to it, and Orson stiltedly complied against his better judgment. Being down on it's level was all that was needed for the Mære to uncurl it's hooked fingers and reach out, hovering it's hand over the side of the vampire's neck.  
  
Orson nearly ducked away, as the neck was a sacred and sensitive place to his kind, but before he could, it was done, leaving Orson in alarm as a burning sensation glowed on the skin like a brand. He clapped a hand over the spot.  
  
Waving away his shock, the Mære said, "That's my signet. It keeps track of you for me so you don't try to worm out of our deal." Orson clearly wasn't comforted by the knowledge, so it continued, "Don't worry, it's only permanent if you fail to keep your word. All you gotta do is impress me."  
  
Wearing another nasty grin, the creature took two steps back. "Scary Godmother? That perky witch with the cat spirit?"  
  
Hannah nodded.  
  
"I'm looking forward to this," it told Orson. Then, between one blink and the next, it vanished. Opening their eyes again almost felt like they were just waking up.  
  
They wasted no time getting to their feet. "What are you planning to give it?" Hannah asked.  
  
Orson deflated.  
  
"Oh no."  
  
He removed his glasses to rub at his eyes, hoping to avoid hers as he said, "I'll think of something."  
  
Once his glasses were back in place, she made an effort to catch his gaze, showing him a weary smile. "We'll think of something."  
  
"Thanks, Hannah."  
  
"At least we can get you home," she tried to console.  
  
"And get you another key," he added. The burn of the signet refused to fade.  
  
"So..." The human looked back to the spot where the Mære had crouched. "Who was that?"  
  
"A Nightmare," he said. "It's job is to, you know, give people nightmares."  
  
She grimaced. "So that's what was happening to me."  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't stop it sooner," he hastened to say. He would give anything to never again see her in such distress. And perhaps he just had. After all, bargaining with that Nightmare was starting to sound about as bad as doing so with the devil himself.  
  
Hannah waved the apology away. "Don't worry, I'm alright. Besides," she neared to graze her thumb over the Mære's signet on his neck, "we've got bigger problems."  
  
He didn't have time to soak in the touch, how it eased the burn, before she withdrew. She continued, "What could make the Nightmare's job more enjoyable? A music player maybe? Or a book?"  
  
"Maybe there's a spell Scary Godmother could cast to... make the nightmares scarier or something."  
  
Hannah hummed. "I think that might be too broad for a spell..."  
  
A pause stretched out as they racked their brains.  
  
"Do Nightmares have special interests?" she asked.  
  
"I don't know," said Orson. "They're kinda rare to find because they're almost always working. I've never even seen one before now."  
  
Suddenly, the closet door cracked open. Expecting the Nightmare had come back, Orson looked down at the gap and saw a set of five pure white phalanges.

The door swept open wide and none other than Skully Pettibone hopped out.  
  
"Oh thank heavens," he said. "I was afraid I would find both of you in the throes of sleep paralysis."  
  
Emerging from the closet behind him was Scary's ghostly cat, Boozle. The feline made straight for Hannah, eager to butt it's head against her jaw.  
  
She laughed. "Boy are we glad to see you two."  
  
"I could say the same, sweetie," the skeleton said. He flung out his arms. "You're looking at your five star rescue party. Everyone else is at our place waiting. They've demanded I bring Hannah back with us, by the way. Not that I wouldn't have dragged you along anyhow, pumpkin. You just _have_ to see the crowchet voodoo dolls I've been making."  
  
For his part, Orson went very still and quiet. The reality of what he'd done, the consequences, were hurdling toward him, and his body only wanted to freeze.  
  
Skully must have noticed his odd air, as he gave the vampire a once-over. Orson knew the moment the signet was spotted, because the skeleton's brow bones drew together.  
  
"Is that a tattoo?" Skully queried, coming closer to squint at the side of his neck. "A severed horse head..." He straightened abruptly. "Oh tell me you didn't make a deal with that Nightmare."  
  
"Uh—it's—um—" Orson shied away from the question, instead shooting helpless looks at Hannah, knowing full well doing so acted as its own confirmation.  
  
Skully heaved a big sigh. "Well, I suggest you brace yourself, because your parents are going to come down on you hard."  
  
Orson's body seemed as if it were caving in on itself, buckling under the dismay weighing down on him. Skully must have seen it—the portion of Orson which was still a kid, curling up inside him. With a spindly hand, he clasped Orson's shoulder and said, "Whatever the cost, we'll see you through this."  
  
The vampire nodded his thanks. The words just couldn't form.  
  
"We've got to hurry back," Skully told them. "I'm out of my jurisdiction here. I'm supposed to stick to the old houses."  
  
Skully and Boozle returned to the closet, while Hannah took Orson's hand, all long, cold, and knobby, into her smaller warm grasp, and led him into the portal as well. His feet trusted her to lead him, but the onslaught of stress was set on shutting him down. It left him trailing behind her with heavy, stiff movements.  
  
A hallway lay on the other side. It was lit with blacklights, casting everything in a blue glow, including a chest and a recliner, both of which were white as Skully. Painted on the walls were intricate patterns of neon pink, green, orange, and yellow that interacted perfectly with the blacklight. Orson's eye caught on Hannah's dress. The pink and yellow splashes there glowed bright. It was downright cosmic.  
  
The drawback of the lights was the way they took the sober lines of Hannah's expression and exaggerated them. Now she looked just as grave as the rest of them.  
  
"Did you paint this, Skully?" Hannah asked. "It's amazing."  
  
"Oh it's nothing. I find it's the best way to pass the time between house calls." In passing, Skully swiped a finger bone over a green swirl. "You wouldn't believe the extensive breaks my boss puts into my schedule. I'm starting to consider finding a different employer. It's not like I don't have the experience to work anywhere I want—I've been a skeleton in the closet for more than three centuries!"  
  
When they opened the door on the other end, they were stepping out of Skully's closet under the stairs in the house he shared with Scary Godmother and Bug-a-Boo.  
  
Scattered around the sitting room before them was their typical party. Scary, Hairy, Bug-a-Boo, and Orson's mother sat, while his father stood facing away from the stairs. His ashen hands were clasped behind his back.  
  
Hannah didn't abandon Orson's hand, even when the company noticed their arrival. The others flocked to them in a hurry.  
  
His dad descended on him with a loud, "Orson, my son! Have you gone mad? You could have gotten lost on the other side! How did you intend to return?"  
  
"We were so worried about you, _meine fledermaus_ ," his mom said, pulling him into an embrace and then caressing his cheek. "You left without telling us a thing."  
  
Embarrassment itched at Orson. He straightened from his fearful slouch. "Mom, dad, I'm not a kid anymore. I wanted to check on Hannah; it's not like anyone else was gonna do it."  
  
A deafening silence overtook them. Every tiny movement seemed to play out awkwardly.  
  
Scary Godmother fluttered to Hannah and gathered up her soft human hands, leaving Orson's own curling in on itself. She looked Hannah in the eye and said, "It's not like we didn't want to, Hannah. I missed you like I'd miss my wings! Goodness knows I'm constantly looking for you over my shoulder."  
  
"My key was stolen," the human told them. Unbelievably, her tone suggested she felt somewhat guilty. Surprise flashed on everyone's faces.  
  
"We thought you were busy in your world," Bug-a-Boo said.  
  
Scary nodded. "When you didn't come to the Halloween party last week I decided I would drop in on you to visit soon, but it looks like Orson beat me to it."  
  
Their skeleton friend raised his hand slightly. "And I've been stopping by your closet in the mornings after my shift, but you're never there."  
  
"Oh." Hannah became sheepish. “I babysit for my neighbor in the morning." She brightened a little. "The toddler calls me Hannah Mario.”  
  
Orson cracked a smile, and Scary cooed, “Cute.”  
  
"Hey!" The lot of them jumped at Maxwell's bark. The vampire's furious gaze was turned to the front door where, Orson noticed for the first time, the Nightmare crouched. To it's impish grin, Max demanded, "Do not look upon my wife with your boorish eyes!"  
  
The Mære didn't bother to smother it's amusement, even as it looked to Orson's mother and bowed it's head in vague respect. "Forgive me, countess, but your hair is perfect for marelocks. Well, maybe not perfect exactly. Just a foot or two shorter should do it...”

Maxwell was aghast. “And now you dare insult her _hair?_ ”

Putting a calming hand on her husband's arm, Ruby said, “Maxwell, really, darling.” This seemed to stifle his offense somewhat.  
  
“Why is it you linger here?” his father asked the Mære coolly.  
  
The milky eyes of the Mære found Orson's, who was dreading the response. “I haven't received my payment,” it said.  
  
The others followed it's stare to Orson. Their shock dawned slowly as the signet on his neck was realized.  
  
“Oh, Orson,” his mother gasped.  
  
“Tell me this is a joke,” Scary said. “It's a joke, right?”  
  
Skully blew out a heavy sigh. “It's not.”  
  
Orson's father did not speak, but the words were clearly forming. The youngest vampire's gaze darted around, ultimately landing on the Mære. It was too busy ogling his mother's long black hair to notice.  
  
An idea struck so sudden and hard, a strangled noise wrest itself from Orson's throat. Hannah shot him a quizzical look, more intrigued than startled.  
  
“I'm sorry, but I didn't know what else to do,” Orson rushed to say to them. Then, retrieving Hannah's hand, he blurted, “Scary Godmother, I need you!” and hurried toward the kitchen.  
  
Even as he and Hannah passed the threshold, the baffled gazes of those left in the foyer bore into him.  
  
Behind them, Scary said, "Come on, Skully. I need my right hand."  
  
"But you already have one!" Despite his cry, they could hear the skeleton's bones clack together as he followed.  
  
Orson called over his shoulder, “It's okay, I can fix this!”  
  
The Mære grunted. “Make it quick, kid. I ain't got all night!”

As soon as they were at the kitchen table (which had been transformed into a banquet table since last he passed through) his three friends pressed for answers.  
  
Very reluctantly, Orson released Hannah's hand.  
  
“I told the Nightmare I would give it a gift that will make it's job more fun,” he told Skully and Scary. They all listened intently. “I didn't know what to give it until a minute ago: A wig!”  
  
Even Hannah looked underwhelmed. “A wig?”  
  
“No offense, Orson, but I don't think that thing cares about it's looks,” Scary said, thumbing at the doorway.  
  
“No, not like that,” the vampire said. “Earlier it was complaining that Hannah's hair was too short to make marelocks with, and it said that lots of people don't have the right amount of hair anymore. I didn't think of it until just now when it was staring at my mom's hair. It needs a wig to put on it's victims! A long one.”  
  
“That might just be genius,” said Skully, setting his hands on his hip bones.  
  
Hannah lit up. “That sounds perfect! But what are marelocks?”  
  
"Nightmares sometimes tangle up their victim's hair. The result is called 'marelocks'." Scary said. She was the last to come around to the idea, after a moment of mulling it over. Finally, she said, “I don't keep any wigs, but I'm sure we can find the stuff to make one.”  
  
With a flutter of her batty wings, the witch turned to the long table, then halted. “I guess I need to do some cleaning first.” Indeed, the table was covered with jam jars, pumpkin stems, and heaps of orange, slippery, seedy mush. A series of strange metal tools were strewn about as well.  
  
“What happened here?” Hannah asked of the mess.  
  
Scary shot a volley of spells at the various objects, sending them to the sink or boxing them up or filling them with the mush and storing them away in a cupboard. “Before we heard Orson went missing, Skully and I were busy mashing up leftover Jack o' Lanterns from Halloween.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
Ticking off his fingers, Skully said, “Pies, sodas, candles—wands, if the stems are long enough—and so forth. You can use pumpkins to make all sorts of things.”  
  
As a trio of rags magically mopped up the dregs left on the table, Scary added, “My favorite is making it into moisturizer for the Lou Carcolh. They need all the help they can get in the dry months. Plus, my hands get moisturized while I'm mixing it together!” She cackled.  
  
“That's incredible,” Hannah said, just as the rags finished their cleaning and floated to the sink like jellyfish.  
  
“So.” Scary tapped a long finger to her chin. “What do we need to make a wig?”  
  
“Hair,” Orson said.  
  
“A base,” added Hannah.  
  
Scary hummed thoughtfully. “Cobwebs would make a good base,” she said to herself. “They'll hold the hair in place. But what hair?”  
  
Skully jabbed an index finger into the air. “Scary, what about our onryō stash?”  
  
“Perfect!” The witch seized the skeleton by the skull and planted a kiss on his temple. “What would I do without you?”  
  
“Work yourself to the bone, most likely. Ooh, but that's not such a bad idea. Then we could be marrow mates!”  
  
Leaning in, Hannah asked Orson, “What's an onryō?” He could only shrug.  
  
“An onryō is a vengeful spirit,” Scary explained. “They're creepier than most, and they have long black hair like this.” She conjured up a lengthy ponytail of straight black hair and placed it on the table. “Some of them donate their hair, which Skully and I rush out to buy.”  
  
“I hang my share of it in the old, abandoned houses,” Skully said as Scary flew down into the basement. “Some people think it looks like ugly water damage, but others recognize it as onryō hair. The terror when they do is almost palpable.”  
  
As Scary returned, she was saying, “That's because of those Ju-on movies the humans made about them. It spawned a series or two and spread the lore beyond Japan." She had a thread-crowded mesh spider web draped over her hand. “I use the hair to make jewelry. It's easy to do, and I can make a quick buck selling them in town.”  
  
"Now." Scary turned to Skully. "I need a model."  
  
"Use your words," he teased.  
  
"O pearly bones in my closet," she said with a curtsy, "please lend me your beastly bonehead."  
  
Popping off his head with a flourish, Skully's body passed him to the witch. "Anything for you, Scary Godmother," he declared. "Be careful with me, though. I think I have a loose tooth."  
  
Scary set his skull on the table. "You have nothing to worry about." Then she asked over her shoulder, "Hannah Marie, could you get my purple people eater needle from that drawer behind you?"  
  
The human slid open the drawer and hesitated. Her eyes darted around the small space a moment until she said, "None of them are purple."  
  
Orson peered into the drawer. In a sea of buttons and spools of thread sat a single island: a pumpkin pin cushion pockmarked with dozens of needles of all sizes and colors. Among them, however, there was no purple.  
  
"Oh, no," Scary laughed as she settled the web over Skully's cranium. "Silly me! They eat purple people, they're not purple themselves. It's the little yellow one. Be careful with it, it's carved from the horn, so it's extremely delicate."  
  
Hannah plucked the tiniest, dingiest yellow needle from the pumpkin and passed it along. Scary took it and placed it between her teeth so her hands were free to untie the band holding the onryō hair together. "And the best part is their hair is easy to untangle!" she said around the needle.  
  
She laid the hair on the table again, then held up the needle and spoke the incantation, _"Toil Enbraid."_  
  
Immediately, the needle came to life and went about the process of knotting the strands of hair to the webbing. It moved at such a speed that Orson's eyes could hardly focus on what he was seeing.  
  
"I wonder if magic will ever stop impressing me," Hannah mused beside him.  
  
"As someone who's been around this stuff my whole undeath," Orson murmured, "I'm gonna have to say no. Or not completely."  
  
After mere minutes, the black strands were sewn into the lace web, making a full head of long hair. It blew Orson away, how realistic the wig appeared. When the needle rested itself on the table, Scary produced a pair of scissors and began snipping away the excess webbing, as well as cutting some bangs into the front of the wig.  
  
"Voila!"  
  
Skully gave a cheeky grin and waggled his brow bones. "How do I look?"  
  
"I think you should try wigs more often, Mr. Pettibone," Scary said, placing his adorned skull back on his body. "Though I think you should aim for a more... cheery color." She twirled one of her bright orange curls around a finger.  
  
"You and I both know that would turn into a disastrous competition." He tossed some of the hair over his shoulder.  
  
Scary shrugged. "Had to try."

They all considered the wig.  
  
"Should we change the color?" Scary asked.  
  
"I think it might like black," said the skeleton. He lifted the wig from his cranium. "It being so obviously onryō hair might give the Mære inspiration for it's nightmares."  
  
Hannah hummed. "Maybe we should ask the Nightmare what it's favorite color is."  
  
Orson pondered this. It seemed like a frivolous detail, but he wanted the Mære to be thoroughly pleased, lest it ultimately decide to inflict it's wrath upon him.  
  
What kept nagging at him was the thought that the Mære might get tired of seeing the same hair all the time...  
  
A light came on in the vampire's brain, and Hannah was the first to notice.  
  
"What is it, Orson?"  
  
"What if it could be any color?" he said.  
  
"Yes..." Scary looked to the side and tapped at her chin.  
  
The bright look from Hannah did much for bolstering his confidence.  
  
“Could we put a spell on it?" asked Orson. "One that changes the color of the wig to the hair color of the person who's wearing it?”  
  
"Surely you could do that, Scary Godmother," Skully said.  
  
"I've got all sorts of unusual tricks in my bag, don't you doubt it," the witch said. She received the wig from Skully. "One chameleon charm coming right up!"  
  
A burst of magic sparks in indescribable colors danced from Scary's fingertips right into the wig. Nothing visibly changed, giving Orson pause, but it must have worked because next he knew Scary was handing him the wig with a grin.  
  
"If that Nightmare doesn't like it, we'll keep adjusting until it does," she told him.  
  
The weight of the wig was surprising. Heavier, it seemed, than his mother's hair when she asked him to help her get ready for a formal party or ball. And her hair was much longer! The onryō locks somehow defied logic.  
  
He pushed away the curiosity, saying, "Thanks, Scary. I owe you guys."  
  
Scary waved it away. "We'll see. First, let's appease that Nightmare so it can get back to work and out of my house."  
  
As if waiting for the cue, the Nightmare hobbled into the kitchen with irritation curling it's lip. "Alright, kid, enough playin' around. Where's my reward?"  
  
Orson met it at the fireplace. “Uh.” He glanced up at Hannah, who gave him a mostly encouraging smile, before extending the wig to the Mære. “Here.”  
  
It's sour expression didn't change. "What's this?"  
  
"It's, um, it's a wig,” said Orson as the creature took it in it's clammy grasp. “So you can put it on your victims and make marelocks."  
  
It looked up sharply. “'Ey, listen, they're clients. Not victims. Huge difference. If you gotta problem, take it up with my supervisor.”  
  
"Sorry."  
  
The Mære scrutinized the gift, murmuring to itself, "A wig, huh?"  
  
Orson hurried to add, "It's enchanted, too! It changes to match the person's hair color."  
  
The Mære's bald brow raised at that. It lifted it's arm as if weighing the wig. "Onryō?"  
  
Orson nodded.  
  
"This stuff ain't cheap."  
  
Hands beginning to fidget, Orson looked to the others, silently asking if they knew what the creature was thinking. None of them could convey an answer, which left him to stew in the heady anxiety. The future of his sanity hinged on this moment.  
  
The corner of his eyes and his sensitive ears took note together of a pair of peachy toes and brown sandals stepping close only a foot away.  
  
Before he could turn to it, the Nightmare looked up from the wig with a grunt. "I guess you're smarter than the average bloodsucker after all, kid." It beckoned to Orson. “Get down here.”  
  
The vampire complied, bending down for the creature. Without any fanfare, it clapped Orson on the side of the neck once. Just as before, he covered the spot on reflex, but this time the burning sensation was absent. He could still feel the uncomfortable impression of it, but the signet was gone, and the deal was fulfilled.  
  
Where Orson would have liked a minute to come to terms with the news, the Mære was ready to move on.  
  
“'Kay,” it said. “I'm out.” It stepped back in preparation to disappear, but first looked between the wig and Orson, saying, “I think this wig oughta look good on you, kid. I'll see you next week. But you won't see me...”  
  
Everyone blinked at once, and opening their eyes again felt like awakening from sleep. The Nightmare, of course, was gone.  
  
They let out a collective sigh.  
  
Hannah appraised his neck where the seal had been. "It's gone," she assured.  
  
"But the consequences aren't," said Scary. "Let's go reassure the others before the Count flies off the handle."  
  
On legs weak from relief, Orson made to follow Scary and Skully back into the foyer, when Hannah placed a hand on his elbow.

"What did it mean about seeing you next week?" Her big eyes bore no judgment, but there remained some worry.  
  
Only then did he remember his first deal with the Mære. In the mad scramble to be released from the signet, he forgot that he volunteered to have Hannah's nightmares on her behalf.  
  
This, he couldn't bring himself to tell her. Not yet. Not in the wake of that last deal.  
  
"I don't know, maybe I'm scheduled for a nightmare next week." It was almost the truth, right?  
  
Hannah looked like she wanted to argue, but she suppressed it. Taking his hand again, she led him back to the sitting room. The others were chatting in low tones until the two young adults joined them.  
  
Before there could be an awkward silence, Bug-a-Boo swept Hannah into his thick, furry arms with a, "C'mere, kid."  
  
She giggled like she did as a child, returning the hug as much as her arms allowed. The burly monster rubbed his jaw against her head affectionately. Even that could hardly ruffle her short cropped hair.  
  
The others joined in a group hug, chattering in an incomprehensible din, save for Orson's father, who opted to stew in the back corner by the sofa.  
  
His mother was the first to speak anything parsable after they peeled away from the hug. Bug-a-Boo kept his hold on Hannah, resting his chin on her head.  
  
"Hannah, darling, it's wonderful to see you." Ruby said, briefly clasping the human's hand before she went back to draw his father out of the corner.  
  
"You too, Ruby," said Hannah. "I was afraid I'd never see you all again." Hearing her repeat these words again, Orson ached to think how often they ran through her mind over these last several months.  
  
Pulling his head back from its resting spot, Bug-a-Boo turned Hannah to look her in the face. "Aw, we wouldn't abandon you like that, even if it did take us a while to clue in."  
  
Hannah looked around at them all with a soft expression that made Orson melt a little inside.  
  
"I bet I've missed a lot," she said.  
  
Hairy lept off the wingback chair and jabbed his muzzle and a finger into the air. "Right you are, my dear!" he declared. "You are looking at the newest edition to the cast of the witching hour skelevision drama, _Stigmata Sally._ "  
  
Leaning in, Skully fake-whispered to the human, "He plays 'lycanthrope 3'.”  
  
"I beg your pardon!" Hairy huffed. "My character is of utmost importance to the universe within the series. He is Frances Houdini; chancellor of the prestigious Cromwell Academy for the Arts, co-founder of the Clips For Claws Foundation, phantom photography hobbyist, and bizarre food connoisseur."  
  
Skully scoffed. "If he's so important, what is he doing just standing around in Satan's castle?"  
  
Orson couldn't stop looking at Hannah. She radiated with happiness at being back with her family. Skully and Hairy's bickering had her openly chuckling.  
  
Hairy continued, "Why, he is in Hell on vacation, of course! Sightseeing! Not that you would know anything about that, you uncultured numskull."  
  
"Excuse you, my skull is sensitive as a—"  
  
"Okay!" Scary fluttered over to Orson. "You know, Count Max, Ruby, I have personal experience with Nightmares. I could take Orson aside and scare some sense into him, if you'd like."  
  
Orson's father opened his mouth, but his mother cut off whatever he intended to say. "We would appreciate that very much, Scary Godmother, but you don't have to."  
  
"Oh, it's no trouble." She waved away the notion. "I think Orson ought to fully understand the consequences of his actions."  
  
She went directly for the side door of the house. As the young vampire trailed behind, she called back, "Hannah, you come too."

He knew he should have refuted then that she hadn't done anything wrong, but the desire to not be alone when Scary chewed him out was a strong one. And anyway, Hannah didn't look afraid so much as concerned. The difference served to take some of the weight off his shoulders.  
  
They joined the darkness outside, creaked their way down the porch stairs, and trailed around the pumpkin patch on an old, moss-limned, cobblestone path. It wandered up to the broommates' poison-purple gazebo. It was the furthest structure on the property, with the tree-line just beyond it.  
  
When she stepped in last, Hannah's face lit up, not just by wonder, but by the flickering, amber orbs of flame that wafted around the eaves of the gazebo. Orson remembered being here to see these as a young child many years ago, but it didn't impress him then or since. Her awe, however, did much to amend that.  
  
Scary seemed just as touched by the young human's reaction. "Aren't they just dazzling? They've gathered here off and on for centuries."  
  
"Are they alive?" Hannah extended a hand in an attempt to graze the bottom of one low and blazing bright. Used to the reckless way she interacted with unknown entities, Orson calmly guided her arm away. Understanding the gesture, she flashed him a thankful smile.  
  
Scary didn't react much either, but her eyes were sharp to Hannah's actions. “They're spirits, so I guess it depends on your definition of 'alive'. They're Will-o'-the-Wisps. Or corpse candles, if you prefer. Some of them wander alone, but some of them colonize, like these, and travel in groups.” Suddenly Scary landed on her feet with a clack of her heels, squawking, "No, wait! I'm supposed to be lecturing you." She rolled her eyes and shook her head, making her bushy orange hair sway.  
  
"Orson." She thrust one lanky finger at the vampire. " _Never_ make a deal with a Nightmare. They are ruthless and have very loose morals. You can't begin to imagine what they could do to your sanity."  
  
As she turned away, Orson's heart sank, but he tried not to let it show.  
  
"And Hannah—" The witch faltered. "...Don't encourage him."  
  
"Of course not." There was a blatant lack of zeal in Hannah's words, but neither called her on it.  
  
"Understand?" Scary asked the two. At their nod, the tense lines of her body softened somewhat. "Good."  
  
Orson looked between the two women. "Wait, that's it?"  
  
"You both looked scared enough just going through all that—I think you have a good idea of the risks." She pointed another finger at him. "Don't tell your parents. Now, the real reason I brought you out here."  
  
"'The real reason?'" Hannah's brows furrowed.  
  
Scary hummed a confirmation while, without so much as a whispered spell, she conjured up in a curl of slime-green smoke a... Well, he couldn't tell what it was, frankly. Black; a thin pole with a bat at the top and an oddly cut shape at the bottom.  
  
Taking it in both hands, she snapped it cleanly down the middle, like breaking apart a chocolate bar, and handed one half to each of them.  
  
The younger two puzzled out what they were looking at for a moment.  
  
"It's a key," Hannah observed.  
  
Indeed, it was an iron key, antiquated, with rust just barely blemishing the tips. The stem had simple ridges like the back rods of a wooden chair, and at the top of the key was half of the bat, bisected with a wavy edge. Its single unfurled wing was cast with delicate fingers and a gentle curve inward.  
  
He peered over at Hannah's, which was just the same but bore the other half of the bat.  
  
"With these keys, the both of you can travel between our worlds!" Scary Godmother enthused. "Hannah, you can visit us, and Orson, you can visit Hannah."  
  
Hannah and Orson shared a wide-eyed look, excitement slowly dawning.  
  
"That's wonderful!" said the human. Orson emphatically agreed.  
  
"There is something else I should add," the witch said. "These keys, as you saw, are two halves of a whole. They are intrinsically linked, meaning that when one key is used, it opens the door to the location of the other key."  
  
Hannah only pondered a second before asking, "So if Orson is with his key at his mansion, and I use my key to come to the Fright side, I will come out at the mansion?"  
  
"You'll come out of the door nearest to the location of the other key. And when you want to leave, you'll return to the last door you used in your home world."  
  
He saw Hannah gaze down at her key, then back up at the two of them. "Thank you, Scary Godmother."  
  
The witch cooed and stole Hannah in a hug. "As long as you visit me, too."  
  
"Absolutely," the human assured as they parted.  
  
"Perfect." Scary returned to hovering with her deceptively powerful wings. "Well, I guess I'll leave you lovebats alone. I should tell your parents you have been properly chastised. I'm gone!"  
  
And then she was flying away, ignoring their bafflement.  
  
Hannah blinked. "Lovebats?"  
  
Immediately, Orson felt his chest squeeze and warm at the term; at its application to the two of them.  
  
"It's a... thing. People say," he murmured. Every ounce of his willpower went toward keeping himself from mashing his face into his hands. It was like they were always _trying_ to embarrass him in front of Hannah.  
  
"It's cute."  
  
A nervous laugh bubbled over his lips. "Yeah, I guess so."  
  
There came a hush where Hannah admired the Wisps while Orson tried to recover.  
  
"That was amazing, by the way. Your wig idea," Hannah said eventually. "I think it's probably the best one I've ever heard."  
  
He huffed politely, trying not to preen under her praise. To impress her like that, well... "That means a lot coming from you."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, you're kinda the queen of problem solving."  
  
She laughed.  
  
"It's true!" he insisted. "Ever since we were kids you've been that way."  
  
Her amusement didn't fade as she ambled to one side of the gazebo and levered herself up to sit on the handrail, facing him. Her exposed heels sprung lightly against the elastic cobwebs strung across the balusters.  
  
Without thought, he moved to stand before her. Her new seat had her matching his height.  
  
When her eyes zeroed in on something low at his side, she held up her key and noted, “We match.”  
  
Just to see it, he held his half against hers, completing the bat. The iron wings came to life, flapping and stretching before settling into place once more. “It makes sense,” he said, “I think we're kind of a package deal.”  
  
“I agree.” Hannah shone with a smile, the glow of which had nothing to do with the Wisps. “Orson and Hannah. Hannah and Orson. The human and her vampire! Or the vampire and his human. That works, too.”

"I like the idea of being your vampire."  
  
She beamed. "Well as your human, I've gotta say," she considered his neck, "That mark didn't really look good on you."  
  
Automatically, he rubbed the spot where the signet had been. Its ghost buzzed just beneath his skin. "Yeah," he said. "It didn't really feel good either."  
  
Her brows tipped in concern. "It looked painful."  
  
Trying to seem unruffled, he brushed it off, saying, "Nah, it only burned a little." But the posturing felt wrong here. He confessed, "...But I can still kinda feel it."  
  
Warmer, shorter fingers came to graze his neck as she inspected the now-blank canvas of ashen skin. He nearly quivered at the touch, just as when she traced along his neck earlier that evening.  
  
Before he could process it all, she leaned in and replaced her fingers with the soft press of her lips.  
  
His cadaverous heart seemed to galvanize at the tender brush just so it could throb. Instantly, the kiss soothed the buzzing under his skin. Even when she pulled away he could feel the lingering sensation of her lips.  
  
She asked, "Was that okay?"  
  
"Yeah," he said, voice cracking.  
  
Her confidence wasn't lacking, but he wanted to return the affection—to show just how 'okay' it was.  
  
Impulse would have him kiss her neck as well, to caress and dwell on it, as necking was how his people showed their deepest love. But he wondered if a kiss on her lips might be more significant to her. He couldn't help but stare at them. They were pink with life, and cocked in an endearing way. They, too, were enticing.  
  
His eyes flicked up to hers, but her gaze was also set on his mouth.  
  
Breaking the abeyance, he swooped in to give her a tentative kiss, one he hoped wouldn't put her off. Instead, she kissed back, more solid and secure than he had been. He heard and felt the metallic thud of her key hitting the planks, but couldn't tell if it had hit his foot before she was holding his face in her hands, drawing him closer. Knees gone weak, he planted his palms, key and all, on the rail at either side of her.  
  
When she pulled back, he found himself trying to chase her heated lips. His eyes fluttered open to meet hers, big and brown. They were much nearer than they had been last time his eyes were open. In fact, her knees were even pressing into his sides.  
  
Something moved in the distance, garnering his notice. It was the broommates' graveyard Ghoul, skulking to the small cluster of tombstones at the corner of the house. Before he could glare daggers at her, she spotted them in their intimate moment and went stiff as she realized she was intruding. She scurried out of sight.  
  
At least someone knew how to keep their noses out of other people's business, he thought. Unlike...  
  
This time he did send a red-eyed glare, but at the house. The drapes of the sitting room window were pulled aside, so he could see the others watching them unabashedly. Skully even winked, the bonehead.  
  
A warm set of fingers curled around his, with a thumb smoothing across his knuckles. In one stroke, it sufficiently stole all his attention away.  
  
"I'm not part of any aristocracy," Hannah commented. She watched her thumb's movement.  
  
"That doesn't matter to me." He had come to this conclusion long ago. He declared, "You're my queen."  
  
Now she looked at him, laughing. "Your mom's the only queen around here."  
  
"Okay, princess."  
  
Despite the blush dusting her cheeks, Hannah pointed at the ceiling to note, "They changed."  
  
He peered around. She was right; the Wisps had turned an icy blue, bathing everything in an eerie, cold light.  
  
"What does that mean?" she asked.  
  
"...I have no idea."  
  
She hummed. "Maybe we should go in case they're angry at us. I'm not very flame-retardant."  
  
"Me either."  
  
Hopping down and retrieving her key from the planks, Hannah took his hand again. "Let's go, my prince of the night."  
  
He knew it was corny, and so did she, if her twinkling eyes and the cheeky crinkle of her nose were anything to go by, but he loved it. "After you, my princess of the night."  
  
He caught the sway of the drapes as the others fled from the window, as well as the scent of pizza on the breeze, and begged the powers that be to let him stay here, in this moment. For, next week, he had a meeting with the Nightmare.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Good Lord, I had a blast writing this. I hope anyone who comes across this story will enjoy it. Please let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Orson's other bargain will be tackled in the sequel story, but that likely won't be written before December 2017, at the soonest. I absolutely look forward to it, though. (Edit: 2017 didn't work out, but the sequel shall be completed in 2018!)


End file.
